


A Second Wind

by MTK4FUN



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:25:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MTK4FUN/pseuds/MTK4FUN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta makes a "special" friend when he starts a running program.</p>
<p>A modern AU one-shot written for Write-Me-A-Story HG Challenge, Round 2, hosted by Ro Nordmann.</p>
<p>Prompt 6: "What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Second Wind

Damn. I suck in my gut to button my jeans. The pants are tight. Taking over my parents’ bakery translates to long hours. No time to work out. Meals that consist of meat pasties and cookies. 

I throw sweatpants, a t-shirt, and an old pair of trainers into my duffle bag and take it to work. Today I start a running program. I’m not looking to change my body, hell, I’ve always been stocky, but I want my jeans to fit comfortably. I don’t want to look in the mirror and see the Pillsbury Doughboy grinning back.

I forget all about my good intentions until much later in the day. It’s nearly three when I spy the duffle bag on the chair in my office. 

“I’m going out,” I tell Rue, the assistant manager.

She grins at my change of clothes. “Working off those snickerdoodles?” 

Were other people noticing the weight gain? My cheeks redden as I head out the door.

Fortunately the sidewalks are empty as I jog past the other businesses on Main Street, aiming for the park at the end of the block. It’s large. At one end is a big, grassy field where kids play soccer. At the other end is a small playground with swings, and a slide, and a merry-go-round contraption that is so old that I used to play on it when I was young. In the middle is a wooded area with winding trails.

Even though I work down the block, I haven’t been there in years. And while it looks about the same, I notice they’d added some benches, which is good because I’m already out of breath. My lungs burn. 

I sit down at the second bench I see. A shiny, gold plaque is glued to the center back. In memory of Jacob Boggs. 

Well, thank you Jacob. 

I am in much worse shape than I thought. I’ve never been a runner, per se, but I used to be fit. Really fit. Held a state title for wrestling in high school. What happened?

I sigh and take off jogging again. I know what it was -- college. Four years of parties, crazy hours, lots of beer and chips, well it didn’t help.

But I’m grown up now. It’s time to start acting like it and take care of myself.

I make it completely around the park. There are a few people out. A couple of women and kids hang out by the playground. A few runners like myself on the trails. I begin another loop and wait for a second wind to kick in, wondering if it that phenomenon is real or something coaches tell athletes about to keep them from giving up. 

On the second go-round I nearly stumble and look down to see that my shoelace is untied. I am surprised as I always double-knot my laces. I remember a bench along this wooded portion of the path where I can sit and fix it. 

But the bench is occupied now, which is strange because it is in such an out-of-the-way place. A teenaged girl with long blonde hair sits there. She looks about fourteen and I expect she is meeting up with a boy. I don’t want to scare her, make her think a fat creeper is after her, but I need to fix my shoelace before I trip and hurt myself. I slow down and catch her eyes. 

“I need to re-tie my shoe,” I mumble, before sitting on the corner edge of the bench and bending over. As soon as the lace is done, I am up, giving a brief wave of acknowledgement to the girl. 

Surprisingly, she waves back, flashing a tiny grin. 

I stop after two laps. As I lumber out of the park, a runner lopes towards me wearing earbuds. She doesn’t even glance my way, but it’s all I can do to keep my tongue from falling out of my mouth and drooling.

It’s Katniss Everdeen, someone I had a crush on all through school. But I never acted on my feelings. She was intimidating as hell. During high school she was glued to the hip of a guy named Gale Hawthorne. I haven’t seen her in over four years and she looks even better than she did then. A perfect combination of gray eyes, olive skin, and long dark hair. I notice her ring finger is bare.

Suddenly I’m glad she didn’t look my way. In my baggy sweatpants and damp t-shirt, I feel foolish.

Seeing Katniss motivates me to continue my exercise program. I have no grand plan to get in shape and win her affection. That ship sailed years ago. But something about seeing her gives me hope that I can pull it together. Get in shape. Make a success of the bakery. Maybe even find someone to love. Become a grown up, not the shifty bum my mother likes to call me.

I run in the park at the same time everyday. It’s astounding how quickly my body recovers from years of excess. Within two weeks, I can easily button my jeans. Within a month, I buy a pair the next size down.

The daily runs give me time to think. I haven’t done that in a long time, really think about my life and how it’s going and what I want to happen. My mind occasionally wanders to Katniss, but I don’t see her again.

However, that teenage girl is a regular fixture. She always sits on the same bench in the wooded area of the trail. It may seem weird but we sort of become friends. At first it’s waves and tiny smiles until the day I sit down and drink from my water bottle and made a comment about the weather.

Eventually I gather the courage to ask why she sits there. She laughs when I ask if she is meeting a boy. 

“I’m waiting for my sister.”

I nod, wondering why they meet up on a park bench but I don’t ask because I figure it’s none of my business. 

She tells me her name is Primrose. 

One day I bring along two cheese buns in a bag and set it on the bench next to her. “For you and your sister,” I say before jogging off. 

When I loop past the bench a second time, Primrose is gone. But the bag still sits there, next to another woman. Her head is in her hands. As I get closer I realize that the woman is Katniss. 

I suddenly make the connection. Primrose must be Katniss’ sister. 

I slow down, ready to stop. Heaven could not have sent me a better excuse to finally approach Katniss Everdeen and say something. I don’t hesitate. I am confident and fit now in my new running clothes.

“Did Primrose go already?” I ask. “Did she like her cheese bun?” I nod toward the bag.

Katniss jerks her head up and stares at me with an intensity that makes me step back. I have never seen such hatred in anyone’s eyes, not even my mother’s. 

“Who are you?” she shouts.

“Peeta Mellark. We went to school…” 

But she stands and sets off running before I even finish speaking.

What is her problem? Did she just have a fight with her sister? I turn my head toward the white sack on the bench when my eyes catch sight of the gold plaque. In loving memory of Primrose Everdeen.

Wait. What? But how could it be?

I take off running after Katniss, baffled as to what is going on. The teenager I spoke with said her name was Primrose and she was waiting for her sister. Is there another Primrose and another sister? Is this some cosmic coincidence?

I must be in good shape because I’m able to keep Katniss in my sight for some time. I see her cut off the trail heading toward the grassy area where the soccer teams play. I chase after her and watch Katniss drop to the grass. I slow down not wanting to startle her. But she takes no notice of me because she’s sobbing.

I sit nearby and wait for her to stop. I pluck a dandelion and twirl it between my fingers. Her crying slows. 

“Is Primrose your sister?” I finally ask.

Her head flies up and she turns to look at me. The hatred has left her eyes. Now she is somber.

“You saw her?”

I nod, but then pause because my Primrose can’t be Katniss’ Primrose because her sister is dead.

I try to explain myself. “A teenaged girl named Primrose waits on that bench nearly every day for her sister. We spoke a few times. Today I brought a couple of cheese buns for them to share. When I saw you with the sack, I assumed you were her sister.”

Katniss’ eyes are as big as saucers. “What did she look like?” she whispers.

“About fourteen maybe. Blonde, blue-eyed. Nothing like you,” I assure her.

She recoils as if slapped. “You’ve just described my sister Prim. Katniss takes a deep breath and looks away from me and off into the distance. “Prim died in a house fire almost five years ago.”

An icy shiver runs down my spine.

“Sometimes I think I see Prim out of the corner of my eye when I run past the memorial bench. But I thought I was only lying to myself.” Katniss turns back to me. “But you actually saw her? You spoke with her?” 

I nod, but I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what has occurred. I have made a friend of an apparition. 

Katniss looks at me like I’m crazy. She licks her lips and my eyes follow her tongue around her bow-shaped mouth. “Did she seem, um, happy?”

“Very.” 

She sighs loudly and I realize that Katniss has had a difficult time moving on since her sister’s death.

I want to make everything all right. Say something so meaningful and reassuring that Katniss will be comforted. Instead I blurt out, “you know, life goes on. It can be good again.” The words sound lame in my ears. But something in those trite words must break through because the muscles in her face relax. 

I hand her the dandelion that I’ve been twirling between my thumb and index finger. 

She takes it from me, and stares at it for a long time before lifting her head. A tiny smile forms and I see the resemblance to Primrose. “What were you saying about cheese buns?”

I help her up and we jog back to my bakery together.

 

THE END


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